


Are You a Man?

by Delotha



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Beast!Gaston, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 06:24:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delotha/pseuds/Delotha
Summary: Instead of dying at the bottom of the ravine, Gaston meets the Enchantress.  In order to teach him a lesson, she transforms him into a beast, and gives him five years to find love and have someone love him in return.  But Gaston doesn't have a castle to live in, or servants surrounding him to give him some reprieve from his loneliness.  How is he supposed to find someone who can see the man within, if everyone who meets him runs in fear or tries to kill him for being a monster?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following Tumblr post: http://curlicuecal.tumblr.com/post/145167668770/chamomile-geode-dont-know-if-this-is-as-deep

Gaston woke up in agony. He hadn’t really expected to wake up at all, not since he hit the first outcropping on the cliff and went tumbling down. Not when his head slammed into the rocks and he lost all sense of anything.

How long had he been out?

Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up on one elbow. The world swirled and tilted - and his head simply pounded - but there was no accompany nausea. He blinked and tried to make sense of his surroundings, but it was too dark.

Which meant it was still night. Which meant he hadn’t been out that long. 

Right?

His head felt heavy. Probably from hitting the rocks. Gaston reached to check the damage and froze when he felt something on his head. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Something like… branches.

His hand shaking, he felt the branch impaled into his skull. This was bad. Very bad. People die from this kind of thing. Even he…

No. _No_. He was Gaston. Even something like this couldn’t kill him.

Right?

Gaston tried to calm down. He forced his breathing to slow down; forced himself to breath through his nose. This wasn’t so bad. He could still think. His thoughts weren’t disjointed or scattered, so the branch couldn’t be stuck that far into his skull. Maybe no more than an inch.

Even so, he left it in. To try and pull it out would be the death of him. He was a hunter, first and foremost, and he knew that pulling anything out that was stuck in would only cause the injury to bleed. And head wounds bled more than anything. He remembered that much from his father’s teachings.

What would his father think, seeing him panicking over a silly injury like this?

_“Gaston! Are you a man? Are you my son? Act like it!”_

His father’s admonitions echoing in his head, Gaston struggled to get to his feet. His body felt… strange. Like his head. Oddly heavy, awkward. He hurt in every joint, every part, of his body. He looked up, trying to gauge how far he had fallen, but saw only vague shapes in the shadows.

He must have tumbled to a stop in a small crevasse or in a cave.

Gaston limped in search of a wall. His gait was off, making him lurch in strange directions, which made him think he must have broken something in his legs. While he hurt, there was none of the sharp, overwhelming agony of a broken bone. Which meant he must still be in shock.

He had sometimes seen this, in animals; they were too overcome with fear or instinct, and they didn’t notice the gunshot had already crippled them. When he was younger, he had always felt a twinge of pity for them.

“And what of now, Gaston? Do you still pity them?”

He whirled around, heart in his throat, and nearly fell to his knees as radiant light burned into his eyes.

“Mighty hunter, mighty man,” the voice continued, almost, but not quite, mocking. “I wonder if you can learn to be more.”

“Who are you?” he demanded and froze. That vicious snarl was not his voice. That belonged to a beast - a monster! 

“And you’re not a monster,” the voice said. “Are you?”

Unbidden, images - memories? - flashed in his mind. He was climbing up towards Belle, his heart nearly bursting with an unfamiliar warmth. Thunder echoed among the spires of the palace and within the chasm below. The mob was on the run. He could finally tell her how he felt…

A pain, unlike any he had felt before. A man...

No… _No!_

A man - himself, Gaston - face twisted demonically in triumph, holding the hilt of a knife.

He was a man! Not a monster!

Yet, clear as day, he saw his hunting knife driven deep into the kidney’s of a tired-looking man instead of a vicious brute.

**“NO!”**

It came out as an unearthly howl. Gaston flinched, even as he recognized his own voice beneath.

“Are you a monster, or a man, Gaston?”

_Are you a man? Are you my son?_

“No!” he growled, realizing that the bestial snarl was coming from his own throat now. He lunged towards the radiance with an inhuman scream tearing from his lips.

“That’s quite enough.”

Gaston stopped, and couldn’t convince his body to move no matter how hard he tried. He was frozen in place.

A woman stood in front of him of such startling beauty, Gaston forgot for a moment all that had happened. With a gesture, she brought forth a mirror, as though pulling it from the shadows surrounding her. Gaston looked at it and wanted to scream, but no sound could come out.

“Look closely, Gaston,” the woman said. “This is what you are, what you truly are, beneath. Not a pretty sight, is it?”

It was not.

A monster - not a man - stood in the mirror, frozen with a snarl. It was covered head to toe in thick, black fur, making it look like a creature of shadows itself. It’s face was reminiscent of a boar’s, with a narrow snout and vicious tusks curving around it. Unlike a boar, it had rows of sharp teeth - not unlike a bear, or a wolf. The chest and shoulders were immense - broader than even the largest bear - and well muscled. The waist and hips were trim, and the legs were shaped rather like a beast’s. It’s legs ended in almost dainty-looking cloven hooves. And crowning it’s head like an autumnal wreath was a pair of rather excellent, claw-hooked antler’s. If Gaston had ever seen a stag with such a rack, he would have stopped at nothing to hunt it down to have that trophy for his house.

But the eyes.

Oh, God, the _eyes_.

The eyes were his.

A piercing, clear blue.

The thing in the mirror was just a monster, not some nightmarish grotesquerie. It was _him_.

“I gave the Prince ten years to change his ways,” the woman said. “But then, he was a boy. You are not.” Her eyes were cold, hard, unyielding. “To you, Gaston, I give five years.”

He looked at her, not comprehending.

“You have five years to change your ways,” she told him. “Five years to understand your mistakes, five years to repent. Five years to love someone, and have them love you in return.”

I do love someone, he wanted to shout, but could not make his mouth work to get the words out. She seemed to understand anyway.

“Was that love, Gaston?”

He saw himself as though from a distance, gathering the town to celebrate his wedding before he had even asked Belle to marry him. He saw it as the actions of a man willing to manipulate the situation to force a favorable answer. What woman could resist a man such as he, especially knowing the town was in attendance to celebrate?

He saw again, the desperate actions of a small man, as he plotted with Monsieur D’Arque to have Belle’s father thrown into the asylum, if she would not marry him. How dare she reject him the first time? She must be punished! She must be made to realize her mistake!

“Are these the actions of love?”

Even if he had been able to speak, Gaston couldn’t say anything.

“And did she love you in return? Did that make her love you?”

Again, he had nothing to say.

“Go,” the woman told him. “You will not be able to find your way back here.” The woman began to fade in the darkness. “Remember, Gaston, you have five years.”

She was gone, leaving behind only a single, wild rose.

Gaston fell to the ground, released from the spell that had him frozen. He made no move to get up. For a long time, he stared at the rose.

And then, Gaston tilted his head back and let loose a howl of despair that echoed throughout the ravine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the following Tumblr post: http://curlicuecal.tumblr.com/post/145167668770/chamomile-geode-dont-know-if-this-is-as-deep

It was many hours before Gaston came to his senses. His stomach grumbled. He needed to eat. And he was parched. He needed water.

Mind numb, Gaston staggered to his feet and turned to leave. On impulse, he snatched up the rose and tucked it into the remains of his tattered clothes. He turned and started walking away from where the woman had been.

It was hard to walk with such dainty cloven hooves, and legs that were meant to be supported by another pair. More than once, he lost his balance and fell forward. Had he still been a man, his the palms of his hands would be covered in scrapes and scratches, but his palms were covered with a thick, leathery hide that cushioned each fall. As he pressed onward, it got lighter, as though dawn was breaking.

Eventually, Gaston made it to the mouth of the ravine, and found an empty field between himself and a tangled wood. For a long moment, he remained in the shadows of the ravine. He scanned the field and saw no signs of human life. Birds fluttered about, and he thought he saw a rabbit scurry into the brush, but no people.

He heaved a sigh of relief, and stepped out.

Almost immediately, he felt a sense of vertigo - and staggered to his knees for the umpteenth time. He turned to look behind him, and was astounded to see that the ravine - and cliffs - were gone. He was in an empty field, alone, surrounded by grass and trees.

Gaston shuddered against a sudden chill, and got back to his feet. First, he would need to find a source of water. It wouldn’t be difficult. He had been a hunter his whole life. Part of that was learning to find prey, and water was an excellent way to find them.

Even so, it took him the better part of three hours to find a small stream and quench his thirst. Getting used to his new body was a struggle. He had always been head and shoulders taller than most men, but now he was that much taller than himself, if he judged correctly. The hooves were difficult, like walking on his toes, but it was the awkward bend of his knees and ankles that tripped him. Worse, was when his antlers got tangled with a low-hanging branch he thought he could pass under. It took a quarter of an hour to get untangled, and he was certain there was still bits of leaf and twig in his antlers.

Gaston dipped his large paws in the water and drank deeply - or rather, he tried to. His lips wouldn’t form the necessary shape for him to drink the water, and mostly it fell out of his mouth. He grunted in frustration - a sound that came out as more of a snarl - and tried again, with the same consequences. 

He recalled seeing the way dogs drank, and grimaced. He looked around, to be certain no one was watching, and lowered his head to try it. His first attempt, he got water up his nose, and coughed. Then, Gaston took a deep breath, and lapped.

Silly as he felt, the water was refreshing. He limited himself, though, not wanting to make himself sick, and pondered his reflection in the stream.

It was distorted in the ripples, but he could recognize the beastly face that had appeared before him in the mirror. Tusks, fangs, a boar-like snout, and sprawling antlers that looked rather more like barbed arrowheads. It made his shudder to see it. If anyone saw him…

Gaston pushed away that thought, and focused on his current situation. He was hungry. Very hungry. He would need to eat, and soon. 

He looked down at his hands, and flexed. Sure enough, claws flashed. They didn’t look terribly sharp, more like a bear’s, but they were long and looked strong. Gaston looked at the nearest tree and considered.

He batted at it, hand flexed so his claws were out. It was a light swing, but he left behind scratch marks on the tree. He barely felt in his hands. He tried again, harder. Deeper gouges, and again, he barely felt it.

Emboldened, Gaston swiped at the tree with all of his strength. It snapped in two, and fell down around him.

Another half-hour was spent untangling his antlers from the tree, while he growled in frustration. Even so, he felt a bit of satisfaction with what he had accomplished. It seemed, the woman had given him strength to match his new size. This had promise.

Gaston sat beside the tree and began using his claws to tear some of the sturdier branches off. Hunting would be difficult, as he wasn’t quite used to his new legs, but his arms worked just fine. He could probably craft a crude snare to bring down some game, and use his claws to dress whatever he found just fine. The rest he set aside, away from the water, to dry. Once he had his meal, he would fine some more dry wood to get a fire started.

His father first took him hunting when he was six years old, and already big for his age. He had been uncoordinated and awkward, not knowing how to hold the gun or how to step. Gaston was almost amused that he was having some of the same trouble now, more than twenty years later. If his father could see him now…

_“Stop crying, boy,” his father had scolded, his voice low. “And be quiet, would you? You want the whole forest to know we’re here?”_

_“S-sorry, Papa.” It was a cold morning. The sun was barely over the horizon, and frost still coated much of the ground._

_“Stop stuttering. Be a man, for Chrissake.”_

_“Yes, Papa…”_

_“Be quiet!” His father shifted his gun on his shoulder. “If you can’t learn to hunt, what good are you? I suppose you want to go home and learn to bake bread and milk cows?”_

_“No, Papa.”_

_“Hmph, good. We have a woman for that already, I don’t need you joining her. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing dresses.”_

_For along time, Gaston’s father was quiet. Then -_

_“Only real men hunt. The rest get by doing women’s work.”_

_“The blacksmith, too?”_

_“Don’t be smart with me,” he growled, aiming a blow towards his son. “Bakers, tailors. Even a damned bookseller. Tell me, what do we need a bookseller for? Eh?”_

_“Nothing, Papa.”_

_“Exactly. Damned useless waste of resources. Remember that, boy.”_

_“Yes, Papa.”_

Gaston sat in front of his fire, a small rabbit cooking away. His father had been right, of course. His father was always right. He kept the town at arm’s length, and would share his abundance. The town respected him for it, but they didn’t love him. It was a lonely way to live, and Gaston always chafed at the chasm separating him and the rest of the town. That’s probably why he always cultivated not only the respect, but admiration of the town’s people.

He wondered what they were doing. Surely, they had noticed he was missing. He wondered if there was a search party. They may be looking for his body, unaware that Gaston had survived the fall…

… and had been turned into a horrifying monster.

Gaston flinched, remembering the image he saw in the mirror. Sharp tusks, wickedly hooked antlers that spread past his broad shoulders, claws and strength to snap a tree in two - all atop a pair of cloven hooves and covered in thick, black fur.

Anyone seeing him would think he was beast at best, and a demon at worst. 

He reached to his face, to see if the monstrous boar-face was still present, and hissed when his claw nicked his brow. Gaston tried to grumble under his breath, but only a deep-throated, low growl came out. With more care, he checked his brow and was relieved to find he wasn’t bleeding. His claws, after all, weren’t that sharp.

Depressed, Gaston checked the rabbit to see if was cooked, and pulled it off the fire. With unfamiliar lips and tongue, it was hard to eat without dropping some of the food down his front and on the ground. It didn’t bother him overmuch. What bothered him, however, was that in order to avoid ripping into the bone, he had to be careful. His father’s scorn still echoed in his ear.

_“You disgust me. Eat like a man, Gaston!”_

If he ate like his father taught him, the rabbit - bones and all - would be gone in seconds. Gaston wasn’t certain if he could swallow the bones. As a man, it was difficult, and often resulted in choking. As a beast, he simply didn’t know.

For now, his father’s lessons would have to be ignored. In order to eat like a man, he would have to eat carefully. The irony galled him.

Bitter and depressed, Gaston laid down to sleep.


End file.
